


Where There's Tea...

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Caretaking, Chance Meetings, Fluff, Gen, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Sickfic, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think that's Benedict Cumberbatch sitting in the coffee shop.</p><p>You also think he has a cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where There's Tea...

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this RPF for a long time, but I've been nervous to post it. It's hard to write a person rather than a character... hopefully, for all my adoration towards this man, I haven't failed horribly.

You can't be more thrilled to be in London, England. But, to be honest, the weather leaves... something to be desired. It was lovely on the day that you arrived, and it had been lovely, today, too, until sunshine had given way to a drizzle and then it was pouring down before you could even think about _how the hell do I find that damn shop?_

It's your first visit to London. You thought you were prepared and you are, to most extents, but you've completely forgotten that you've always had a terrible sense of direction. So, whilst trying to find a shop for clothing, you've found yourself in a less busy part of town with more cafés than clothing stores. Clearly, not where you want to be and, frankly, you're not even sure where you _are_.

Sighing, you duck into a nearly empty coffee shop in hopes of the promise of a caramel latte and some good directions. Mainly, it's a place to avoid the rain. You place your order and throw yourself into one of the many available tables, wrestling your laptop from your bag. Whoever said the internet was useless was totally wrong; online maps and directions are saviours in an otherwise unfamiliar community.

Someone coughs and you glance up, more out of habit than curiosity. There's only a handful of people in the shop: an older couple, a middle-aged man, and a woman who's so indulged in a book that she doesn't seem to notice she's still in the realm of reality.

You look away. It's only after that that you have to look up again, because there had been something strangely familiar about the man sitting hunched over a pile of papers. The side profile of tall and lean, with high cheekbones and unruly, dark brown hair screams at you to use your brain before it clicks.

Frankly, it shouldn't have taken so bloody long, but what are the chances of meeting _Benedict Cumberbatch_ in a coffee shop??

You tear your gaze away from the man before he can catch you staring. He's clearly trying not to draw attention to himself and seems quite busy anyway; he's got ear buds in and he's mouthing words to himself that probably are coming off what may be a script he's reading.

You hear whomever cough again and, once again, you look up out of reflex. _Benedict_ is the one coughing. Is he sick? You frown. Trying to be inconspicuous and stealthy at the same time, you watch him out of the corner of your eye just in time to see him sneeze into his arm.

Definitely sick, you concur. Compassion floods through your body; you want to help. But how?

You're in a café, genius. Buy him a tea.

Tea was always something that you'd drank whenever you had a cold, so it couldn't hurt, right? Benedict doesn't have a drink. Tea might help his throat.

When you go to collect your caramel latte, you ask for plain tea, too. You grab a couple of containers of creamer and packets of sugar, just in case.

You take a sip of your latte and go back to your seat, hauling your purse to your lap. It takes a few minutes but you quickly find the new package of travel-size tissues and set them aside. You also find a couple of honey cough drops. Always be prepared: you never know when you might find a sick Benedict Cumberbatch holed up in a coffee shop.

It's only after you get the tea that you realise how corny this all it. For whatever reason, you don't care. This is a once in a lifetime chance. Being able to meet Benedict was wild enough, but trying to care of him? This was a whole different ballgame.

Still, you're nervous as hell and your hands are shaking as you receive the tea. You balance the sugars and creamers on the top of the tea's plastic lid and gathered up the cough drops and tissues. You don't know what you're going to say, even once you're standing right next to Benedict's table. It doesn't matter, not really, because Benedict has to take his ear buds out first as he looks up at you, seeming to be a bit puzzled and sheepish at the same time.

"Er," you start, offering up a small smile. "They say where there's tea, there's hope. And... you looked like you could use some. I mean... tea. Not hope." You trail off as you sit the tea down on Benedict's table, along with the tissues and the cough drops.

He seems surprised, looks at the array of well-wishes that you had just put down on the table. When he looks up again, he's smiling. "Thank you," he says in that usual, smooth voice of his that is slightly marred now by a cold. "For a moment there, I thought that I had been found out," he says, reaching for the cup of tea.

"Well, you... I mean, you're Benedict Cumberbatch," you say quietly, almost mouthing the words as though it was a giant secret.

He heaves a great sigh, but the smile never leaves his face. "Here I thought I'd be safe at this coffee shop." The scary thing is you can't tell if he's joking or not. He seems to realise this. "I'm joking... sort of. As long as there isn't a cluster of my fans laying in wait..." he trails off, jokingly looking around himself.

"I think it's just me..." You look around briefly. "I think you're still safe."

His smile widens and he takes a sip of his tea.

You plunge ahead. "So, you probably get this all the time, but you're a _brilliant_ actor. You inspire a ton of people, me included. So... thank you."

Benedict smiles, almost seeming abashed now. Honestly, could he be any more perfect? Okay, maybe sans germs, but... _really_. "Oh, thanks. I mean, it's always a pleasure to hear this, because it's, well, quite honestly, the fans are the people that I'm doing this for. It's great to have the work and especially something like this that I personally can have so much fun doing, but making people laugh or cry or re-inspect what they believe in makes it one-hundred per cent worth it. Being able to touch someone else's life is what acting's about, I think, so I try my best to reach that goal..."

"And you succeed," you add boldly.

He smiles. "It's a never-ending pleasure to be able to do what I do."

You stand there for a moment, not sure what else to say. He sips at the tea and then looks at you expectantly.

"Could we get a picture?" you blurt. "Or an autograph."

Benedict laughs softly, getting to his feet. "How about both, then? But I have to warn you: you are running the risk of me passing along my cold to you. I can't seem to knock it, but works calls, anyway."

"I'll take the chance," you say. Besides, it's Benedict Cumberbatch's germs. You wouldn't complain about that cold.

The picture goes smoothly. You try to keep it as less conspicuous as possible, for his sake, and then he signs (for a lack of anything for him to sign) one of the coffee shop napkins. It's easily the best café napkin that you'll ever have. This'll end up in a frame on your wall.

You thank him again and smile, hoping you aren't blushing too much. Benedict sneezes just then, only managing to just grab a tissue and bury his face into it.

"Feel better," you say quietly.

He smiles and rubs his red nose. "Thanks. Don't get sick."

"Don't worry. I'll keep it a secret where I got my germs from if I do," you tease.

Benedict chuckles- that low, deep, rumble deep in his chest that seems to almost resonate throughout his entire body, almost a purr.

For the third time, you say how thankful you are to be able to meet him. There isn't anything else to say and, besides, Benedict came here with a script. He's probably practising lines. And he's sick. You don't want to bother him for _too_ long.

You return to your table and take a gulp of your latte.

Get lost in London, meet Benedict Cumberbatch.

Maybe you should try to get lost more often.

 

**Author's Note:**

> PS: Benedict, if you somehow read this, I don't WANT you to be sick.
> 
> I just want the chance to give you a tea if I happen to meet you whilst you are sick, because then hopefully it would help you feel better: the way you make all the fans feel when we see you in your works.
> 
> [Too cheesy? xD don't wanna sound like a sadist here! :p)


End file.
